


Focus

by Willow555



Category: Original Work
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Light Dom/sub, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-14 00:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2171358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willow555/pseuds/Willow555
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You struggle with anxiety. On a particularly bad night your fiance is able to help. </p><p>Pure fluff, no smut, all ages, the only intimacy here is emotionally :p</p>
            </blockquote>





	Focus

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm apparently getting in touch with my inner kinky side lol. Also, my first foray into second person. 
> 
> Wrote this when I was having a bad night. Hopefully it resonates with some of you too. Constructive crits and comments are always welcome and appreciated :D

You hate these days.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Usually the anxiety is just a quiet hum that you can ignore. Not completely, never completely, but you cope. You focus your mind on other things and the quiet hum stays quiet.

Except on days like today. Where out of nowhere you feel like somebody has suddenly turned up the volume and your brain is a going a million miles a second and you can’t even focus on one thought long enough to figure out why you’re feeling so anxious. All you know is that there’s too much static in your head, and you can’t make it stop.

You try to keep going.

Your fiancé treats you to a wonderful home cooked meal and you get through dinner and clean-up, able to act completely normal. You know better than to think you’ll be able to fool him for long, but at least you didn’t break down at the dinner table…again.

After you cleaned the kitchen together you both spend time relaxing in the living room, him catching up on work, and you starting your latest sewing commission. Being secure in just being together, but both being able to do your own thing.

Until the static gets to be too much.

You try to tune it out.

You keep telling yourself ‘just one more pattern piece’.

Finally, you give up. You can’t do it anymore. Everything is too loud, and you feel like you just need to hide away in a deprivation tank just to get your thoughts back together. You get up and start methodically putting away your supplies.

Slowly. Carefully. As if the world will come crashing down if there is one thing out of place. You still try to act normal. You hope that he won’t notice. You don’t want him to worry.

Of course, you’re not normal right now, and he’s known you too well for too long.

“What is it?” he asks, looking up from his computer.

“Nothing,” you reply, falsely calm. “I’m just more tired than I thought I guess. Can’t really tackle this one tonight.”

He gives you a look. You ignore it and continue to carefully fold and place. There are so many pattern pieces to fix.

You hear him clear his throat. You still pretend not to notice.

He calls your name.

You look up.

“I know you’re lying. What’s going on?”

“It’s fine love. I’ll be okay. I’m just tired.” This time you try to put more conviction in your voice.

But you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes.

You hear his laptop snap shut. You know that now you’re in trouble. You feel bad that you’ve made him abandon his work to take care of you yet again.

You’ve folded and unfolded the same pattern piece three times now. You’re trying to keep your hands busy but all you can really do is keep track of his slow steps towards you.

Slowly, very slowly, he walks behind you. And he waits. You’re still too stubborn to admit your weakness. Too stubborn and too scared. You know he’s seen this before, but you still wait for the one time that he’s going to get tired of you and give up. Nobody wants to deal with a person who’s a mess for the rest of their lives. You’re too selfish to tell him that and let him go, but when he realizes the truth for himself you know you won’t be able to blame him.

You feel your head yanked back by a firm grip on your hair.

“Tell me. Now” He commands.

Even in your frantic state of mind you automatically relax a little. You know that tone. Yes, it’s one of authority and command, but it’s also one of safety. And whether he’s using it in seriousness or in fun, you always know that it means he cares.

“It just…it got loud. I can’t focus and I don’t know how to bring the quiet back.”

Still not letting go of your hair, or letting you move your position at all, he leans down. You can feel his breath on your ear and for a brief second focus on that.

“Why?” is all he says.

“I don’t know. It just happened. I’m not sure what set it off tonight, I just...it’s too much.”

“Okay. So here’s what we’re going to do, you’re going to focus on one thing, and then we’re going to go bed. Deal?”

“It’s not that easy. You know that. If it was don’t you think-“ your arguing is stopped by a firm finger to your lips. Slowly the finger starts to move, tracing around your now closed mouth, up your face, down to your neck. Taking his time and just tracing small, gentle designs along the top half of your body. The contrast between that and the rough hand still holding your hair is just confusing enough to start to throw you off.

“Tell me what I’m drawing” He commands, moving his hand to the back of your neck.

With the gentlest of touches, so soft that you can barely feel it, he starts to trace a simple picture. You try to focus but every time he moves you shiver because it feels so nice. Your brain is losing focus again, but in a different way this time.

“So?” He asks quietly.

You let out a small breathy laugh. “You know I wasn’t paying attention.”

He laughs quietly. “I know”. He continues to gently touch you, fingers never leaving your skin, but tracing gently all along. Your body slowly starts to shut down. You stop tapping your feet, your breathing slows, and you close your eyes, enjoying the sensation.

You feel him stand up and gently tug on your hair. You open your eyes and look up questioningly. He says nothing but starts walking towards the couch. You quickly get the hint and rush to keep up, crawling where he leads you. Rushing not because you’re worried he would pull to hard, but because you don’t want to lose contact with him even for a second.

He sits down and you stay on the floor, resting your head in his lap. He resumes his tracing along your shoulders now, petting your hair every now and again. Your mind finally, blissfully, starts to quiet. You sigh gratefully and let the quiet engulf you.

You don’t know how long you remain there, simply enjoying the quiet of your own mind. These are the moments you love, because it’s here where you can just let go. Those rare moments of actual peace where no part of your brain is constantly analyzing. You feel his hands start to slow down, then they stop completely. Not leaving your skin, but you know that means it’s time to talk.

You sigh, in resignation this time, and climb up beside him on the couch. Taking his hand in yours and beginning to trace your own designs to keep the anxiety of the conversation at bay.

For a while you say nothing, and he patiently waits, knowing that you will get there in your own time. You want to apologize, but you know that that’s not what he’s looking for.

“Thank you for making it stop.” You say instead, knowing that’s still not what he’s waiting for, but needing to say something easy before jumping straight into the other stuff.

“You’re welcome my love.” He kisses the top of your head, lowered because you’re focusing so hard on his hand in yours. You’re not ready to look at him yet, and see all the emotions that you know will be there, but that shouldn’t be.

“Why do you keep doing this? You know it’s not going to get better. At least not for a while. And it’s getting worse.” You ask. Getting defensive in your anxiety and desire to have the conversation over with.

“I love you. Is that not enough? And I’ve noticed it’s getting worse. That’s what, three attacks in the last month.”

“Four.” You correct quietly. Still refusing to look up.

“Do you think it’s because you’re actually starting to work on things?” he asks gently.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I just know that I don’t know how long it’s going to be like this. And it’s not fair to you.” You whisper this, more to your lap than to him. You can feel the tears starting to form but you refuse to let them fall. The last thing you want to do right now is guilt trip him into staying because you’re crying.

“Look at me.”

You keep your head down and make no motion of acknowledgment that he spoke.

“Look at me.” He commands again. Putting more authority into his voice so you know he means it.

You close your eyes, still silently refusing to move.

He takes his hand from yours. You open your eyes, waiting for the harshness for your disobedience. Instead he gently lifts your chin. His hold loose enough that you could still pull away, but you don’t in your surprise.

“Listen to me very carefully: I am not going anywhere.” He repeats the phrase again, slowly, making sure you hear every word twice. “I love you. Both the good and the bad. And if getting to be around the good means that sometimes I have to pet you and pull your hair I think I can live with that.” He smiles and you return his look. “Okay?”

“Okay.” There’s nothing else for you to say in response. You don't know how you were lucky enough to deserve this wonderful man for the rest of your life, but you know that you will try to spend it living up to being the person that he sees in you.

He lets your chin go and pulls you to him as the tears start to flow. You try to pull away.

“I’m going to ruin your shirt.” You warn.

He raises his eyebrow at you. “Do you really think I care?”

You laugh and bury your face in his chest. He rubs your back as you let everything out. All the anxiety, all the insecurities.

Once you’ve cried yourself out you pull away. “So, can I expect a punishment for not listening later?” You ask, adjusting your position.

Instead of answering he lands a quick swat on your behind as you move on the couch to lay down.

“Feel better?” He asks, smirking.

You laugh. “Yes. Yes I do. Clean slate?”

“Of course. But,” and his tone changes, becoming serious and you listen intently. “don’t lie to me again. Ever. I’m here because I want to be. Because I love you. Part of that means helping to take care of you. So you have to let me. When you need help keeping the thoughts at bay let me know. I can help you. I don’t mind. Maybe if we try that it won’t get as bad. Small releases, instead of building it up so much that you need to get it out all at once.

“Nope!” He stops you as you start to open your mouth. “I don’t want to hear it. You do plenty for me, and it does balance out so shush. And I will come up with all kinds of devious scenarios to drive that point home if I have to.”

You shake your head and smile because you know that he could come up with some very interesting scenes to serve that purpose. Not that you wouldn’t enjoy them, but you don’t want to push either of you any further tonight.

 _Maybe tomorrow_. You think to yourself mischievously as you lie back and settle comfortably into his arms. Feeling safe and whole.


End file.
